They have become so used to Logan's disappearances that it is only when Professor Xavier takes study hall that Scott and Ororo even notice.

"'Logan?" Xavier's eyes meet Scott's across the master's desk. "He's not gone far - it's just that he's beginning to remember, you see."

Scott doesn't protest, though Ororo can tell he's seething inwardly, and it is that more than anything that suggests the two men have begun to come to terms with one another.

A week later, and Scott is jogging along the terrace when he encounters Logan, standing by the reflecting pool with his head bowed. He means to pass unnoticed, but he can hear Logan's labored breathing as he nears the pool. Logan tenses, a fist to his eyes: he is crying. He weeps as if out of practice, as if the act is as painful in its way as those moments when his claws emerge between his fingers.

"'Can I-?"

"His name was Hilary."

Scott stands uncertainly: Logan's overtures can be hard to read. They are friendly, nowadays, their penchant for taking offense muted by growing familiarity. Logan is fitting in more and more, his softer side in occasional evidence. Scott is afraid to trespass too far, though, since their friendship is still so new.

Logan turns, brusquely wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Hilary. He was my . . . my boyfriend. He died."

Scott has anticipated anything but that admission. "'My boyfriend.'"

Logan studies the shrubs across the pool. "He was murdered - it was made to look like an accident: 'friendly fire.' We only had a couple months, and- And then I found out, and I-"

"Logan."

The words are mumbled: "I killed a bunch of guys - I went crazy. . . They shot me - the MPs - and they thought I was dead, but. . . The brass hushed it up, and kept me drugged, and I was at Leavenworth-"

His arms hang helplessly until Scott takes a step closer, risking rejection, and embraces him. Logan is crying again, shaking with release, and even later Scott feels the tears burning through his jersey.

They don't talk about it again for another month.

The professor explains it to Scott, one evening when they are sitting in Xavier's office correcting papers: "It was a godsend for Stryker, finding Logan. He was nearly finished with his experiments in adamantium, and here was this fellow who had been rotting in jail for years, never ageing, seemingly indestructible. You saw how he was, William: he played on Logan's emotions - on his shame, on his loss - and mixed him up in the group's activities until he was completely compromised: he wanted the operation, even though, as we know, his mind couldn't handle the consequences."

After a moment, Scott replies: "'And he's been running and fighting ever since."

"Indeed. It is not lightly that he is called Wolverine."

Scott finds himself puzzling over Logan: he was attracted to Jean, obviously, so how could he-?

"'Don't be silly," Ororo smiles, when he swears her to secrecy and unburdens himself. "'So he's bisexual - so what?"

"I know, but. . ."

"No 'buts.' If you go on like this," she adds, archly, "I might start to think that you have a little thing for Logan yourself, like half the girls at school."

Ororo crosses her arms: it is still chilly after dark. "It was so weird that you dragged me out to the field house and told me that Logan's gay, which, as you just said, is not a big deal. 'You're sure you don't have a thing for him?"

Scott sighs. "Quite sure."

"I see."

The first time Scott comes to him, Logan is lying in bed, reading, the book resting against his bare abdomen, the sheets draped loosely at his waist. He glances toward the door:

The other man nods. "I know the feeling. I'm still having nightmares, and I get into this zone before bed where I'll do anything to avoid sleeping." Scott sits down in the chair beside him. "Do you still dream . . . about Jean?"

"Yeah. 'All the time. It's a nightmare, really, because I always know that she's. . ."

The word is unsaid.

Logan hides a yawn of his own as Scott leans forward. "Do you ever dream of . . . of Hilary?"

Logan frowns. "'Not really. I don't have a clear picture in my head. 'Just that I loved him - we were a couple, even though it was hidden, obviously; I guess I remember how I felt when I found out it wasn't an accident, that he was fragged. I still dream about that."

As they talk, Scott's eyes begin to close. After he falls asleep, Logan gets up and lays him out in the bed, wrapping himself up in a blanket on the floor beside his sleeping friend.

"This is getting to be a habit," Logan smiles, the fourth time Scott stops in after lights out.

"I'm sorry."

"'Don't be - I don't mind."

"Well, if I fall asleep, put me on the floor - there's no reason for you to give up your bed."

"'Not a problem," Logan grins. "I'll kick your ass out before it comes to that."

But of course he doesn't - and that is the first time that they share a bed.

Scott wakes up with an erection pressing into his side; he smells of Logan, nowadays, a mix of Irish Spring soap and tobacco and sweat. As he tries to move without waking his companion, Logan's hand slides into Scott lap, cupping his cock through the cotton boxers before falling away.

Cyclops blushes: he is instantly hard himself. Logan turns over with a grunt and resumes snoring.

They continue sleeping together until the Professor asks them to come into his office. "I'd like to know what's going on with you two," he begins, and his request is met with silence.

"'Nothing," Logan replies, finally.

Scott meets Xavier's gaze. "We're friends."

"You will be careful, I trust."

Logan snorts.

"'Of course," says Scott, and that's that.

"What's it like?" Scott asks, a day or two later.

"What's what like?"

"Sex. With another guy."

Logan turns his head slowly, muting the television before replying. "You have a dick, don't you? It's just like-"

Scott reaches for the remote. "I don't know. I was just curious, I guess."

And still they don't talk about it, about their feelings - about the ways Jean's death has bound them together - about the ways their relationship is evolving beyond Jean. Then, one night, Scott comes to Logan and stands just inside his friend's bedroom door, waiting to be invited closer.

"I was just thinking," he says, once he is sitting on the end of the bed, "about how I have this huge room all to myself, and I thought . . . if you wanted, you could. . ."

Logan's left eyebrow quirks, and then his lip curls in amusement. "'I could move in?"

"Yeah. I mean, I could get rid of the bed - and, anyway, it's just two mattresses pushed together, so we could just make them up-"